


I'll Be Good

by scoutshonour



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Control Issues, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, How Do I Tag, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Malia Tate, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-04 16:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutshonour/pseuds/scoutshonour
Summary: Malia's world is spinning. Her mother and sister are dead, by her own hands, her father isn't her biological father, her mother was a werecoyote, as is she. And here she is, in a town miles away, a town she never knew existed with family she never knew existed, to control abilities she never knew she had.





	1. How Did This Happen?

**Author's Note:**

> While I wait for my motivation to finish my Girl Meets World fan fiction, I introduce you to this story that stole my heart and my time. 
> 
> Alright, I may be biased because Malia's my favourite character, but her back story is the most intriguing, and man. I love her. 
> 
> This first chapter is literally so vague and so ... bleh. But it'll get better and longer and everyone will be introduced and more will be uncovered and yeah. I mean, all first chapters are usually slow, so like, this might suck ass, but I have a lame excuse!
> 
> Let me know what you think.

They don't tell her what happens. 

She can see the guilt in their eyes, the pity-

She draws her own conclusions.

She remembers the blood on her hands, their screams, their howls of pain, her mother flinging herself in front of her sister. She remembers killing them. She remembers losing control.

She remembers liking it.

She waits, waits for her father, for her head to stop pounding, for someone to come in and handcuff her, tell her she's under arrest for murdering her sister and mother. Because she knows she did it, knows there wasn't a collision, there was no natural force that sent their car spinning, that it was  _her._ And there must be a shit ton of evidence, and perhaps it's protocol to nurse a perpetrator's wounds before taking them into custody.

She should be scared, but she isn't, because she knows that she deserves whatever she gets. She doesn't understand what happened, she doesn't know why she did what she did, but she knows she's a monster.

So she waits.

Nothing of that sort happens.

Instead, her father comes, sobs, cradles her head and holds her tightly, and when a nurse comes in, Malia thinks she's lost it.

"We're terribly sorry for your loss. Their wounds were too deep, they lost too much blood. Your wife and daughter were dead on the scene. It seems as though whatever attacked them, left Malia here untouched." The nurse smiles tightly. "The detective has a few questions, but they don't think foul play was involved. Nothing is confirmed, but they think a coyote attacked them, anyway. If you need anything or if anything feels off, don't hesitate to tell us. Malia should be released sometime tomorrow, maybe the day after."

She leaves with another tight smile, and Malia can feel her dad shift, his arm loosening. 

She doesn't know how, but he knows.

He must.

"Dad?" 

Her voice feels hoarse, dry.

He looks at her, face screwed up, eyes red. "I know you didn't mean to," he says slowly, like he's convincing himself, and he starts pacing the room.

"I don't know what happened, I lost control, I-" The words come tumbling down as if it's setting in, that she just killed her mother and sister, that they think it was a fucking animal attack, and he  _knows_ she killed them, even if she doesn't know how. 

"Please don't hate me." It's a beg of mercy.

"Not here, Malia, not here," he says quietly and quickly.. He stops pacing, and she gets a good look of his face for the first time.

He looks tired. There are dark lines under his eyes.

He looks like crap.

He climbs into her bed and she buries her head into his shoulder.

"I'll explain when we get home."

 

 

 

 

Malia's sent home earlier than the nurse had told them. All her wounds and fractured bones miraculously healed, but her migraine is dead set on staying, so she's given a prescription and sent home. The car ride is quiet, the absence of the other half of the Tate family heavy in the air. The second the door is shut and they're back home, she stares at him.

"You said you'd explain."

"Sit down. I'll make you some pasta."

This is where Malia's suspicions slowly begin to confirm themselves. Her dad's pasta was always used as a treaty in this house: an apology, an attempt at peace, or bracing one for bad news, like when they had to move because her mother had a "great" job offer here in Austin. 

This is where she starts to worry.

Her dad brings a steaming plate of pasta with a cup of water to Malia, who's uncharacteristically still, curled up in her reclining chair. She quietly grabs the plate for him,  shoves a forkful of food into her mouth, and when she looks up, she laughs.

"What just happened?"

"You look like shit, dad. And I don't know if maybe this is something I do when somebody die or if I'm worried because you're going to try and explain to me something that has to do with the death of  _our_ family and you're not even surprised that I  _killed_ Mama and Kylie, Dad, you're not even-"

"Malia," he says. "Breathe." He's sitting in front of her, motioning for her to drink some water, and she does.

She braces herself.

"Tell me."

"I'm not your father."

"Yes you fucking are."

He stops himself, the corners of his mouth tugged into what appears to be an actual  _smile,_ before he shakes his head. "Alright, let me clarify. I raised you. I've been here since you were born and I will be until my dying breath. But you're not my biological daughter."

Malia doesn't notice she's crying until he squeezes her hand. "So, Mama cheated on you?" Her voice is shaking, and she wants him to stop, wants her innocence and sweet ignorance to remain unharmed, but better now than later, she decides.

He's still your father, she thinks. 

"No. I met her while she was pregnant with you, and, I fell in love. She was having another guy's kid, and I loved her the second I met her. Our timing was never great ... she told me I didn't need to be there if I wasn't ready, but I was. We were married when you were a year old, and your biological father had been out of the picture since I met your mom."

"That's ... okay, okay, okay, whatever, but that doesn't explain what  _happened_ to them." She's kind of scared, on the verge of hysterics. Alright, her dad isn't her dad. She can handle that.

But can she handle whatever it is he's about to tell her?

"Malia, your mother was a werecoyote. And so are you."

 

 

 

 

She doesn't complain when he tells her she needs to go. She doesn't understand fully, and apparently Henry doesn't either, and she gets it. 

She doesn't want to go. But she gets it.

He helps her pack, tells her he's driving with her to Beacon Hills. Tells her all about Aunt Talia, her cousins Derek, Cora, and Laura, and that they'll help her control her powers. He says he doesn't want to leave her, that he needs her now more than ever, but he can't help her and it's the safest option. And that this is what her mother had decided too, when Malia was born, that this was what would happen when she started showing ... signs.

"You know," Henry grunts, hoisting the last of her luggage into his car, "we thought you didn't have any powers. There had never been anything like that, a child of two supernatural creatures, being human, according to your mom, but fifteen years goes by and no eyes ... no claws ..."

"Sorry to disappoint." 

They're both taken aback by the pure meanness in her voice and she wants to take it back, but she feels so useless.

The daughter he never wanted, the daughter that took everything from him, the daughter that ruined his life.

But Henry just pulls her into a hug. "You have never and will never disappoint me."

The drive to Beacon Hills is about four hours. They take their time, though, stopping whenever they see a McDonalds (about ten times), buying a large fries each time, laughing, and enjoying their time together.  Malia's exhausted, and she wants to fall asleep since it's literally five in the morning when they leave, but she wills herself not to. 

"When will I see you again?"

Malia tries to sound casual, but her voice cracks. She can see they have twenty minutes until they reach her aunt's apartment complex.

"I"ll visit in December, don't think I'll forget about you. But you'll call me, Skype me, every second you get, you hear? And that's not a request, that's an order."

She laughs at his awful attempt at sternness. "Sure, dad, sure."

It's hard to say goodbye when they reach Beacon Hills. She looks at them, at her supposed family, family that no one's ever mentioned, and feels bitterness. They're ... like  _her,_ they have claws, fangs, and could have murdered people. She feels disgust. But they have control.

She needs them.

Her dad sees the older woman, Talia Malia supposes, and greets her with a hug. "Hey, Tal," he breathes into her shoulder. 

No one's outside the building except  for them. There's an older guy, who looks at Malia with a blank expression, similar to the girl next to him, whose lips force themselves up into a smile when she notices Malia staring. 

They know.

All at once, Malia feels like screaming, demanding he take her home, and whine and scream like a five year old child. She feels sick.

She can't do this.

Her sister and mother are  _dead._ How is travelling to another  state, living with people she never knew existed, and starting over in a new town  going to change anything?

"Malia, this is-"

Malia doesn't answer.

Instead, she runs behind her dad's car and hurls. "Can someone give me a fucking mint?"

The girl smirks. "Gum work?" She throws a pack of gum into the air and Malia catches it.

"Thanks."

She plops two pieces into her mouth, and sees her dad coming toward her. "Do you ... do you have to go?" Malia whispers.

"You'll be okay, Malia. I know you will." And she lingers in his embrace, warmth flooding her when she wraps his arms tightly around his neck. 

The man who stayed by choice, the man who raised her as his own, the man who loved her despite what she did.

"I love you, old man," Malia says.

He smiles, pulling apart from her, only to press his lips against her forehead. "Love you too, kid."

She turns around, doesn't even try and stop the flood of tears from rolling down her cheeks. Her suitcases are already loaded, and it's like a knife has ripped through her stomach. 

Her aunt's arm is around hers, ushering her inside. "Derek, Cora, bring her things upstairs, would you?" 

Malia wants to jerk away, but she doesn't, because Talia seems kind, seems warm. It should bother her that she really knows nothing about her, but after a week of so much change, so many answers, she doesn't mind the lingering questions.

And anyway, she's an impatient person. Knowing herself, Malia would ask every thing she wanted to since she killed her mom and sister soon enough. 

"Let's go inside and talk for a bit, shall we?"

"Okay," Malia mumbles, and she doesn't need the assistance, but Talia helps her up anyway. 

Malia's world is spinning. Her mother and sister are dead, by her  _own hands,_ her father isn't her biological father, her mother was a werecoyote, as is she. And here she is, in a town miles away, a town she never knew existed with family she never knew existed, to control abilities she never knew she had. She doesn't know who she is,  _what_ she is, and a part of her doesn't want to find out. 

For the first time that week, it fully settles in. And instead of the stabs of anxiety or the flow of tears she expects or the waves of self hatred, she feels acceptance.

And slowly, very slowly, she feels her world slow down.

"The first thing I want you to know," Talia says in the elevator, her face eerily calm, "is that it wasn't your fault."

Maybe this is how she can begin to actually believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

Malia already feels claustrophobic.

Talia's arm is snug tightly around her shoulders, and Malia doesn't know if she's purposely suffocating her or it's a supernatural thing, but she's relieved when they step into their apartment, and she can shamelessly collapse onto their furniture. 

The sofa is not meant for jumping onto it, Malia thinks with a wince, but she curls up into a slight ball anyway, not wanting to move. She feels tired and both physically and emotionally drained, and rightfully so.

Talia chuckles like she's amused, joining Malia on the adjacent sofa, one leg tucked under the other. "I'd like to tell you how sorry I am for your loss."

Malia tenses immediately.  "I'm safely assuming you know of the circumstances of their deaths?" Her voice is dry, barely sounding like her own, feeling sicker than she had before.

"I'm not judging you, if that's what you're thinking, Malia. You didn't know what you were doing. And that is completely okay." 

"Not to be rude,  but I don't think what I did was okay," Malia interjects, trying not to come off as angry or bitter, even if that's what she feels. "I ... I killed people. I can't blame anyone but me for that."

It's the first time she's said it aloud, and it makes her stomach swirl anxiously. 

Talia's smile falters and Malia swears she sees pity in her eyes. "I assure you that we will help prove you wrong."

It's awkward, staring at Talia, a woman she doesn't know who supposedly is her aunt and supposedly knew her mom. She's supposed to trust this woman, but she can't help but shake the idea that something about her was off, and didn't help that she was currently giving her a cryptic look that Malia can't decipher. "Are you a werecoyote? That's what my dad said I was, and what my mother is." 

Malia notices she used the present tense.

She doesn't correct herself.

Talia raises an eyebrow. "Your dad didn't tell you much, did he?" 

"If he could tell me much, I wouldn't be here." 

Malia realizes she should probably watch what she says, but Talia isn't bothered in the slightest, a small laugh leaving her lips. 

"I'm a werewolf. So are my children. I'm also an alpha." On cue, her brown eyes fade into a bright red, nearly startling Malia.  "I have claws, like you, and fangs. I can do a lot with my abilities. All with the help of practice and control. I'll help you, but you need to know, it won't be easy. But it'll be worth it. I promise." 

"Wow," Malia says flatly. "You should write a self help book." 

"I'm sure you're tired. Cora can show you where the shower is-"

"Cora is trying to study for a test!" Cora's voice booms from the other end of the loft.

Malia's brows scrunch up. "How did she hear that, you were barely speaking."

"Your dad really didn't tell you much. Huh. Well, we have time."

Incredible hearing? Jesus, what can't she do?

"I'm sure I can find the bathroom by myself, uh ..."

"Talia's fine," she says, as if reading Malia's mind. "I am your aunt, technically, but I'm not one for titles. I personally think that the idea that a title means respect is ridiculous."

Malia stands up suddenly, her legs feeling heavy, and she starts to wander down the halls, to find her own way, but she turns around. Talia's head snaps up from behind the kitchen counter, an eyebrow raised. 

It suddenly occurs to her just how little she knows about this family, about her family, her own  _mother._

"How were you related to my mother?"  

Her dad really didn't tell her much, now that she thinks about it, about what she does and doesn't know.

Here's what she does know.

Her father was never in the picture. Her sister was adopted. (Her dad had told her on the ride over.) Her mother was a werecoyote. 

Here's what she doesn't know.

What caused Malia to shift that night. Who her father was. How she's related to this family. 

And there are probably more questions that Malia has, she just doesn't know what she doesn't know.

Talia stares at her for a long moment, her eyes boring into Malia's. "We'll get to that."

Malia doesn't appreciate this woman clearly bullshitting her way out of an answer, but she's too tired to really care and honestly, just wants to be by herself. The past two weeks have been long and painful, andshe knows, that things will only get harder and losing her family was just the beginning. She doesn't want to deal with anything else, not yet, not until she can think of her mother and sister without wanting to break down. So she shrugs, swings on her heel and hopes she doesn't accidentally walk in on one of her cousin's changing or something awkward like that.

 

 

 

 

Malia's watching some reality show on their television a few hours later. She tried taking a nap, but she ended up staring at the ceiling, alone with her thoughts. And she couldn't have that, so she played around with the television. Talia went out, not indicating where she went, not like Malia cares. She doesn't fully trust Talia, the woman seemed more shady than nurturing, and truthfully, doesn't fully trust anyone for that matter. 

An hour into the Kardashian's and she can sense-

she whips her head around, catching a pair of jeans thrown at her. Her cousin Cora smirks at her, looking thoroughly entertained. "You up to hangout? I can show you around town, maybe. And you must be starving, so." 

Malia blinks, surprised by the gesture. "Uh, sure. Give me a second to change."  She doesn't know what to think of Cora's gesture,  but she figures it's a genuine attempt at getting to know her roommate. And if Cora wants to know anything, well, Malia's good at being stubborn. 

She comes out of the washroom, not wanting to admit how uncomfortable she feels in those damn jeans. Malia's always hated jeans. They're always _tight_ and she hates how trapped she feels. "I'm good to go." 

Cora tells her she owns the car, that it was a gift that everyone in her family, her mom, Derek, and her eldest sister Laura, chipped in to get her, and she can use it, if she wants. "Unless you're a shitty driver," she adds in a low voice as she starts the car. "If you break this thing, you'll regret it."

Malia should be offended or defensive, but she grins. "I don't drive actually. And I don't think I will any time soon." 

"I'm uh ... sorry. About what happened. Must have been a busy week for you. And I know you probably won't want to, but if you do want to talk, I'm here, I guess. You don't seem like a bitch."

"You kind of do, though," Malia says bluntly.

Cora barks out a laugh, not offended at all, and she tells Malia she's taking her to an old milkshake parlor. "Beacon Hills is small. Like, microscopically small, and you're pretty much certain to run into someone from school, but, it's a good place to hangout." 

The parlor is mostly empty. Cora leads Malia to a booth, her favorite she says. "You're my age, right? Junior?"

"Yeah. Just to brace myself for Monday, but you're not gonna ignore me or anything right? Would kind of suck-"

"Relax, would you? I'm not like  _that._ You can stick with me, if you want to," Cora says earnestly. "Alright, what do you want? I have my go to, Strawberry Banana Smoothie, which is the absolute shit-"

"-isn't this a  _milkshake_ parlor?" 

"What do you want?" Cora repeats, ignoring Malia's question.

"I'll have, I don't fucking know, a chocolate shake? Just ... give me whatever, I'm hungry," Malia mumbles indecisively, feeling her exhaustion kick in. 

Cora gives her a look, but doesn't say anything, gets up and moves to the front register to order.

Malia has her phone, but she has no internet and her plan won't work here, so she looks around, pays attention to the small details. The sign in front is in chalk, how cheesy, entailing a new special. It's most noticeable feature is its pinkness. It's unbelievably bright and Malia feels like she has to look away or it'll blind her. 

It must take awhile to make their orders, but Malia doesn't mind. 

Okay she does, because Cora seems kind of like a bad ass, and she really wants to talk to her, but she waits anyway, since that's all she can do.

Her head lifts up when she sees a group of people, teens most likely her age, laughing, smirking, and looking stupidly happy, walking into the parlor. 

They smell...off. Not in a bad way, like when someone doesn't shower, but there's something distinct about them she can't quite place her finger on, the same thing she noticed when she met the Hale's only a few hours ago.

Must be a supernatural thing. They probably didn't shower. Or maybe all Beacon Hills residents smell weird. 

They stare at her immediately. Not all of them, only two out of the group. A fairly-built, darker-skinned dude with a soft smile, a tall guy with curly hair, specifically. There's a brunette and a redhead who don't realize what's happening, staring confusedly at the pair, and another awkward, gangly looking guy who's speaking rapidly, equally confused.

She thinks at first they're not staring at her, maybe someone behind her. But, no, they _are_. 

(She turns around to make sure.)

"Fuck off, maybe?" 

Cora's interest is piqued and she turns around, presumably at the sound of Malia's voice, glaring when she sees the group. "She's with me," she snaps.

"Cora, what the  _hell_ is that doing here?"

Malia kind of pieces it together, that they know who Cora is and that they can tell what she is, but, how?

She wants to jump out of her seat, but Cora knows them, Cora has it handled.

And if they were anyone dangerous, would they really start something during the day, somewhere so public? 

"I don't have to answer that, McCall," Cora says defiantly, a scowl set on her face.

"You kind of fucking do," the taller boy says, and he steps towards Cora.

Malia's ready to jump out of her seat, feeling protective for Cora despite only knowing her for a few hours, but the brunette interjects, putting a hand on the guy's chest. 

" _Isaac,_ " she says firmly, staring at him with an incredulous look. "Not here," she whispers.

The boy looks momentarily conflicted, but he gives in to the girl's insistence.

They leave, not without the two guys giving her a longing look of suspicion. 

Cora's angered expression doesn't fall when she comes back to their both seconds later, drinks in hand. 

"Okay, what the  _fuck?_ "

Cora doesn't respond. She takes a long drink from her smoothie, and when she pulls away, Malia can see how  _red_ her face is. "I guess I should tell you now that we're not the only  _creatures_ in town. The shorter one, McCall, he's an alpha. Has his own pack, you saw them. He's not ... he's not a bad guy, he's so disgustingly good, it gets annoying. The other one is his beta, and he's an asshole, but-but they're all good people, okay? It's just. A lot of bad shit has happened in this town, and they're wary. It's reasonable, and we expected this, but-"

" _We?_ "

"My mom, Derek. He kind of-it's a lot. I'll get to that eventually, but, they're wary. They smelled you, I guess, and will have questions. They won't hurt you, if anything, they'll annoy you to death."

"Are they your friends?"

Cora snorts. "They're ... allies, I guess, the occasional acquaintances. Just-don't worry about them, Malia. If one of those assholes talk to you, just remember you owe them shit." 

"Okay," she says, because she doesn't know what else to say.

Malia hesitantly sips her drink. She has more questions. But Cora's pissed, her entire face is still red, and she doesn't want to further anger her cousin, so she drops it.

So they make small talk and ignore what happened.

 

 

 

 

"Derek," Cora says, slightly out of breath when she steps back into the loft, "Scott knows."

The ignoring apparently stops now.

Derek doesn't sound worried. He's seated comfortably on the couch, immediately rising to his feet. "Okay, and?"

"He's going to be a prick about it, that's what! He comes in to the parlor and gave Malia the nastiest look, like he's some  _gang leader_ or whatever." Cora's pacing anxiously, and Malia doesn't understand the problem, until she starts speaking again.

"I mean, I get it, okay, I get the concern with what happened to Boyd and Erica, and I get it was extreme, and it was totally your fault, but-"

"Who's Boyd and Erica?"

Derek and Cora seem bewildered at the sound of Malia's voice, as if they forgot she was there.

"Later," Cora dismisses, and Malia feels annoyed. She wants to leave, to take a nap, to be by herself,  because what a fucking  _day,_ but she stays, plops down onto a reclining chair. 

If no one's going to tell her anything, she might as well piece it together.

"Cora, calm down," Derek says. "And would it be the worst thing-"

"It wouldn't, okay? I admit that. McCall, he's an idiot sometimes, but he's good. It's just they never know how to mind their own fucking business and it's pissing me off."

Cora sits down, buries her face in her hands, and sighs. 

"Is it McCall that's pissing you off or Martin?" Derek asks, a hint of playfulness in his voice. 

"I'll rip your balls off, I'll do it." 

"Do I need to worry about anything?" 

"Just worry about yourself, Malia."

 _Is this entire family good at spewing cryptic one-liners?_ Malia just smiles, horribly fake, and gets up, checking their fridge for something to eat. She takes out a pint of ice cream and a spoon. Derek's still talking to Cora, teasing her about this  _Martin._

Malia closes the fridge door suspiciously, and for some reason she doesn't fully understand, she thinks there's someone behind it, so she's completely unsurprised to see a girl with the curliest and longest brown hair Malia's ever seen.

"Who are you?"

"...Laura?" Malia says slowly, dubiously. 

"Oh, you're Malia!"

She takes that as a  _yes_ and before she can say anything, Laura pulls her into a frighteningly tight hug, Malia's arms limp by her side. 

"It is  _so_ nice to finally meet you! Sorry I've been out all day, I've been a bit busy, but I'm glad to meet you."

Was this a Hale defect? Derek and Cora were sarcastic and assholes, and Malia means that kindly, from what she knew of them. This girl was bright, cheerful, and loud. 

Her smile was blindingly white, too.

God, Malia wants to curl up into a ball and sleep. 

"Uh, same."

Laura grins, loops her arm around Malia's, and forcefully drags her back to the living room, and Malia can feel her heart tug as she abandons the pint of ice cream.

(Chocolate motherfucking mint ice cream.)

 

 

 

 

Malia's room is next to Cora's. It's a proper bed with a frame and mattress. 

She wants to sleep. 

She's tired, both physically and mentally drained, and everything is confusing and hurts. She feels so uncomfortable, like her skin isn't hers, but she's been feeling like that since the accident. Everything is sketchy. Her aunt is, Cora refuses to tell her anything, and those people ... they were something. Werewolves, maybe, although it wouldn't surprise Malia if there were more to the supernatural than werewolves and werecoyotes. She's starting a new school in two days. 

Everything is warped.

And mostly, she misses her sister and her mom.

Everyone has told her it wasn't her fault, and to some degree, she believes it. She didn't  _mean_ to. She didn't know how to stop.

But she's disgusted with herself.

She remembers the blood on her hands, the blood  _everywhere,_ the whimpers her sister made as she tore through her skin like dinner.

She remembers wanting,  _begging_ herself to stop, but she couldn't. 

God, she should be dead, not them.

She rolls over,a sudden wave of nausea hitting her, and pulls her phone out from the floor, checking the time. 

It's three in the morning.

She quietly gets up, tiptoes down the corridor of bedrooms, and makes her way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

"Nightmares?"

Of  _course,_ Talia's up right now.

Malia shouldn't be surprised. "No, not yet at least. I couldn't sleep."

"Sit, why don't you?"

_Calm down. Calm the fuck down, she's your aunt, your dad trusts her, she's going to help you._

"You're nervous," Talia states when Malia sits next to her. "I can hear your heartbeat."

"Alright, can I have a fucking list of what I can do?" Malia snaps irritably.

Talia's gaze hardens and Malia feels guilty for her outburst.

She's just trying to help, Malia reminds herself.

"I'm sorry. I guess, I guess I'm just overwhelmed."

Talia purses her lips, angles her body to Malia, who forces herself to look back up at her. "You can hear very well, heartbeats included. You make for a very good lie detector. You are strong. Very, very, strong. You heal quickly, too." Talia lifts a hand, and Malia is paralysed with  fear when her fingers extend to claws.

Okay, so they're exactly how Malia imagined.

Talia leans over, and Malia starts to squirm with realisation, when she scrapes Malia's palm.

Malia winces, the wound sharp  and the cut starts to bleed. "What the fuck?" She hisses, staring down at her  _bleeding_ palm incredulously. 

Until it heals. 

Malia stares in awe for a second, before tracing her 

"Sorry, I just figured you'd want to see for yourself," she says. "You have claws and fangs and your eyes, they turn blue. You can also transform into a coyote, but ... you'll work on everything else before we even think about that."

Malia blinks, repeating the words to herself. "Alright, okay. That's ... okay."

"There's a lot you don't know, but you'll learn."

Malia thinks this has another meaning, that she isn't just referring to Malia's powers. 

"Who's McCall?"

Talia leans over, picks a mug up from the coffee table, and sips slowly. The drink looks like tea. "He's an alpha, your age. Knowing him and his pack, they'll want to help."

"Should I want their help?"

Talia looks slightly taken aback. "They're good people. If you want it, take it. I personally trust them. Cora, she's a little hotheaded, wants to help you instead. And she won't admit it, but she's bitter, doesn't fully trust them."

"Why?"

"That's for her to tell, not me, my girl. Like I said, there's a lot you don't know. I'm sure you'll learn everything over time." A pause, Talia takes her time drinking slowly from her cup. "You're a lot like your mother, you know. She wanted to know everything, hated anything unsolved."

"Funny, considering she never told me."

Talia doesn't try to defend Malia's mother, much to her appreciation. Of course Malia loves her mother, knows her ultimate goal was Malia's safety, but god. If she had just  _told_ her, if someone had said something to her, would they have been in this mess?

"She was a good person. I can tell you are too."

Malia is sort of surprised, the hand gripping her cup shaking, droplets of water spilling onto her shirt. "Thank you." And she realises she's starting to cry, so she quickly stands up, furiously blinking to avoid crying in front of Talia. "I think ... I think I'll head on up, think I'm ready to sleep now."

She's lying, and Talia obviously can tell, but doesn't say anything. "I'm always here to talk."

Malia smiles slightly as she downs the remaining water in her cup. "Oh, I have one more question."

"Anything."

"My dad."

A blanket of silence falls onto the room, the only thing Malia can hear is the sound of Talia, Derek, Cora, and Laura breathing.

"Do I want to know?" 

Talia's mouth opens and closes, and she looks conflicted, before her mouth presses into a thin line. "Another day, Malia. Get some rest."

 

 

 

 

Malia goes to school a day early. She's so fucking  _bored,_ sitting around the loft, with herself, with her thoughts, and full offence, but there is nothing to do. She is dreading school, of course she is, she's never been good with people, always too brash and blunt to blend in well with a crowd, but she needs to distract herself. 

She catches Cora and Talia's surprise when she asks if she can go to school earlier, but no one opposes. 

She wakes up Tuesday morning and feels like shit. Malia's pretty sure it's representative of how her day will go.

"Wake up, Malia!" Laura brightly sings as she walks into Malia's room, mouth tugged into a  grin. "Wouldn't want to be late on your first day!"

Malia wants to tell Laura to fuck off, but the girl is too kind and Malia wouldn't want to be the reason behind her faltering smile, anyway. She did bring Malia's lunch and dinner into her room as she slept through most of the day, while Cora simply told her to get off her lazy ass and get to know everyone.

So she forces herself to sit up and drags herself toward the shower, waking completely with ice-cold water.

There's a warm sandwich sitting on the counter when she enters the kitchen, bag in hand. "Bon appetite," Derek says monotonously from in front of the sink, his hands under a hot stream of water.

She sits in front of the counter, picks up the sandwich, staring at it questioningly before shrugging."Thanks," she grunts into her first bite, and she wolfs the entire thing down in seconds. "Where's Cora?"

"Probably trying on a variety of leather jackets in front of her mirror, trying to decide which makes her look more emo," Derek says casually.

"As if you don't have a collection of leather jackets  _and_ jeans, you ass!" Cora shouts, and Malia laughs for the first time in awhile. She doesn't really know why Cora's shouting, though, since they can all hear each other, but she doesn't say anything.

Derek smiles, genuine and real, wiping his hands on his pants. "I'm dropping you guys off, by the way." He pauses, looks up at her. "How are you doing, by the way?"

"I'm that midpoint between not okay and okay," she says flatly. "I'm kind of scared, and I kind of want to laugh, because everything is so ridiculous, and I want to scream, because I'm  _frustrated,_ and my parents lied to me for years. I just...I just want to get better at this. I want to be good again." 

Malia looks up, mortified because this is the literal definition of oversharing, and her heart starts to shake in her chest, but Derek looks at her with a sincere, understanding look. 

She exhales shakily, feeling relieved. 

"What, no cliched, motivational speech?" 

"I killed someone. Someone I loved, someone I cared about. It took me awhile to stop pitying myself or antagonising myself, longer than it should have. You'll figure it out, Malia. It takes time and a shit ton of work. Is that a good enough speech for you?"

Cora comes in before Malia can say anything, sporting a leather jacket that has her thinking Derek wasn't completely joking.

"I need some time to show Malia around, so can you wrap up your little sob fest and can we go?" 

Malia's never been around such blunt people, people as blunt as she was.

She decides she likes it, especially when on their way out, Cora proclaims quite loudly, "He's right, you know, so stop moping around, because it's getting annoying."

 

 

 

 

Beacon Hills High School is dull and lifeless, like every other high school in America. Cora shows her the cafeteria and where each of her classrooms are. "We have History together, by the way, our teacher is an idiot, but it's a pretty easy class," Cora says on her final stop on the tour, right by Malia's locker.

She doesn't put anything inside, just plays around with the combination to make sure she's got it. "Alright, I think I'm okay."

"You'll be okay to find me in the cafeteria at lunch, yes?" 

Malia honestly doubts it, but she nods anyway. The bell rings, and Malia nearly scowls, the sound sharp and loud in her ears. She's beginning to notice how different things are, compared to before she had shifted and fully embraced her true self: sounds are sharper, she can hear  _way_ more than she wants to, and she's pretty sure she's smelling a girl on her period walking by right now.

It's nothing too extreme, though, minor things she's trying to adapt to.

The only thing she's really scared about is her first full moon, or, well, her  _second_ full moon.

"You'll be fine," Cora insists, giving Malia a semi-reassuring pat on the shoulder before she darts to make it to her own homeroom. 

Malia's homeroom is a few doors by her locker. It's English, one of her preferred subjects since it's the few that makes  _sense_ and doesn't have so many rules and things to remember like math.

There are a few other people in class, all too busy chattering to give her a second's worth of attention. She doesn't mind, the less attention the better.

There's a fairly young, pretty woman sitting at the desk at the front. Malia can't remember her name if her life depended on it, so she quickly pulls out a crumpled copy of her schedule to check.

_Miss Delaney._

The woman is nice enough, telling her she hasn't missed much since the semester did only start two and a half weeks ago. There are some handouts she'll have tomorrow, so Malia relaxes, taking a seat toward the back of the room and waits for the second bell to go off, to officially signal the beginning of the period.

This is okay, Malia thinks, feeling herself calm down. She wasn't that anxious when she woke up, but there was an initial set of butterflies that flew rapidly in her stomach on the ride over, every possible mishap playing out in her mind.

But this is okay. She's okay.

She looks up, and sees someone staring at her from across the room.

At first, she's pretty sure it's just a person staring at her, what with her being the new girl and all, but a beat passes and she recognises the boy.

It was one of the boys from the parlour, the one who'd stared at her, the one who Cora said was apart of a pack. 

Malia wants to literally die, because his stare is unrelenting and she's pretty sure it's a glare. He walks toward her, and she thinks he's just going to his seat, but no, the guy literally marches right up to her.

What the fuck is he going to do? What the hell does he think she'll do?

His mouth is open, he looks like he doesn't know what to say.

The guy looks kind of ridiculous, and Malia's slightly tempted to lean over and push his chin upwards to close his mouth for him, but he would probably get more pissed than he seems.

So she just says, "You ought to close that, who knows how many flies you'll attract."

"Why are you in Beacon Hills?" He snarls, voice a low whisper. 

Malia thought she'd be fine without Cora, and now, two minutes into her  _first fucking day,_ this guy's here, all up in her face, being a complete dick. 

She shouldn't say anything. She should just looks straight, wait for the second bell, and continue. She doesn't have to answer him. She doesn't have to tell him it's because she killed her mother and baby sister since she couldn't control herself.

She's just so  _angry,_ so fucking enraged. She asked herself this same question these past two days, trying to understand, trying to make sense of what happened. How can she even answer him when she's still trying to comprehend what happened?

He's still glaring, still expecting an answer.

Might as well say something, she thinks angrily. "Because my mother and sister are dead," Malia says as casually as possible.

His face predictably falls and the bell rings before he can say anything else, leaving Malia feeling strangely satisfied. Good, she thinks harshly, _you should feel bad._ He slips into the seat in front of her quickly, and Malia can't seem to focus on anything except for the back of his head.

 

 

 

 

 

Because the universe seems to love Malia, more of his friends are in her classes. None of them are as ridiculously upfront as he is, but she can feel their eyes on hers the entire period. The McCall guy is in her Biology class, the scrawniest one is in her Physics, the brunette is in her Math class, and the redheaded is in her History class with Cora.

Lunch is worse. 

"Scott," Cora says, right when the guy,  _Scott,_ is behind her. Her and Cora are sitting by a table, by themselves, and Malia figures it's a werewolf thing that she knew Scott was there.

Scott does have a distinct smell. Kind of like the smell of comforters right after they're washed and when they're all heated and strawberries. It's strangely specific.

"Cora, I just-"

"I'm not going to kill anyone," Malia says. She drops her fork into her plate of salad and looks up at him, feeling a surge of defiance. "I'm not...a threat, if that's what you think."

He seems surprised, and he stutters hopelessly a few times before speaking, very slowly. "Okay. Okay, okay, I believe you. We can...we can help, if you want."

"McCall, we don't want your goddamn help," Cora snaps, sounding impatient and annoyed, mostly, turning around. Her face burns with anger, and Malia's pretty sure there's more than one-dimensional bickering. Cora gets annoyed easily and snaps a lot, but never so seriously or so angrily does she ever.

Scott looks guilty, heaving out a heavy sigh. "I know you're still upset about Boyd and Erica, but you know that wasn't our fault and we never wanted them to get hurt."

Boyd and Erica.

Those names again. Who were they?

"Fuck off," she says, low and resigned. "Malia doesn't need your help." 

Malia doesn't know why Cora's being such a bitch, but she won't say it. The only person Malia is close to trusting right now is Cora, and she won't ruin that.

Scott looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. "If you need anything, we're here."

"If you could have your friends not look at me like...like  _that,_ that would be fantastic, please." 

Scott's mouth tugs into a small smile. "I'll pass it along."

Cora's tense and moody the remainder of the lunch period. Whoever Erica and Boyd were, it must have ended badly for them. Malia's pretty sure the only possible thing that could've happened is they died. Malia thinks of Derek, pretty sure there's something fucked up there, and of Cora now. What, did being apart of the supernatural mean your life would suck regardless of what you did?

The lanky guy from English is still staring at her, and though his gaze isn't as hard as before, it's still annoying.

"Hey, the guy Scott and his friend can hear me, right?"

Cora's head lifts up, her eyebrows scrunch momentarily before she says yes.

Malia looks right at the guy. "Dude, seriously, stop being a fucking creep. I'm losing my appetite." 

Cora snickers, and Malia's pretty sure he avoids her eyes the rest of the lunch break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so boring, I hate it, but. You know. It's necessary.
> 
> Pretty much Malia trusts no one and thinks everyone's full of shit. Can you really blame her, though?
> 
> (No. No, we can't.)


End file.
